I carried them through the darkness like a bastard Santa Claus delivering his fucked-out presents, hopping from roof to roof while Konoha slept below. Mebuki hung limp in my arms, head lolled against my chest, while Sakura clung to my back like a pink-haired koala who'd forgotten how legs worked.
Mother or daughter, the crazy thing it turned out…. at the end, neither could stand. Hell, neither could probably feel their legs at this point. And that filled me with the kind of smug satisfaction only an absolute piece of shit could experience.
I shifted my grip on Mebuki's ass—purely for verifying stability, of course—and smirked. If I hadn't had the privilege of fucking Kushina Uzumaki, this would have been the highlight of my life.
The hotel room was a disaster zone when we left. I'd destroyed them. Completely dismantled.
Mebuki, the status-climbing sow, had taken a pounding that would have traumatized a civilian with less ambition or insanity. I'd gone hard on the middle-aged cheating wife. Harder than usual, actually, because the masochistic bitch had started enjoying the anal too quickly for my taste. What was supposed to be a degrading punishment had turned into enthusiastic participation within twenty minutes.
I'd ripped her asshole open, reshaping her anatomy to accommodate my ego, and instead of crying about it, she'd started moaning. It was annoying, really. I tried to degrade her, to show her exactly where she stood on the food chain, but the woman was such a twisted masochist she just interpreted the pain as attention from a superior male. She'd passed out twice, drooling on the sheets, yet the moment she woke up, she'd be plotting how to use this to get benefits and my seed.
As for Sakura…
My little student. My useless, gorgeous, pink-haired project.
She had been the main course. Mebuki was just the appetizer I had to choke down to get to the tender meat. I did take her the first time, a second time. That was… an awkward thing to say. But I had broken into her newly virgin cunt and popped her cherry again, yet with less care than the first time. She had proven she can handle it.
I couldn't hold myself with how supernaturally tight she was. I couldn't help it. And I had completely overwhelmed her. She didn't have the stamina for the ninja life expected of her yet, let alone for the marathon I'd put her through. Her body was soft, lacking the corded muscle of a real killer, but damn, the aesthetics made up for the utility. The way her hips flared, the softness of her breasts pressing into my spine right now… she was built for this, even if she couldn't run a mile without wheezing.
I'd slammed into her until her brain fried, her unearned pride pounded into submission, her green eyes rolling back so far I thought they'd stick. It was her first time, and I'd taken it twice, and in exchange, I granted her strong and intense sensations over and over till she couldn't form a coherent sentence. The look in her eyes at the end had been fucking intoxicating. Sakura Haruno was reduced to a moaning, in her first time with a man, whimpering mess that could only take what I gave her.
Of course, I'd healed her hymen before we left the hotel. Again. Because the delusional young woman needed her excuse, and I was a gentleman like that.
Needless to say, my hard work on her was well worth it.
A flicker of chakra at the edge of my sensory range made me twitch.
I kept my pace steady, hopping toward the civilian district. The Anbu tails Minato had assigned to me kept their distance, shadows flickering between buildings. I ignored them. This probably wouldn't be good in my profile, but that was really the least of my worries. And ink on paper was the effect it would have. The Haruno were nobodies. In the grand calculus of the Village Hidden in the Leaves, Mebuki and her daughter were rounding errors. They were just another footnote. Sexy footnote, but still just a footnote.
The village had sacrificed way more important, capable, promising souls for far less gain. If my reputation took a hit in some classified folder, so be it. The reputation of killing a kage was way dwarf anything else.
The Haruno household appeared below, dark and quiet. I dropped onto their roof without a sound, then slipped through a window like a ghost.
Mebuki first. I padded down the hallway to the master bedroom, where I had fucked her first and where her husband now snored like a congested bear. The man didn't even twitch when I laid his wife beside him, didn't stir when the sheets shifted. He didn't even stir as I tucked his wife in. She was covered in my dried cum, her hair a mess, and her muscles twitching from the aftershocks.
Maybe he'd notice in the morning. But I doubted it. If he did, he'd ignore it. He'd convince himself it was sweat, or that he was imagining things, or whatever the fuck cowards told themselves when reality was too uncomfortable. Delusion was the Kekkei Genkai of this family.
I left them to their domestic bliss and carried Sakura down the hall to her room.
Back to Sakura's room. I set her down gently on her bed, pulling the covers over her naked body.
It was pink-themed. I laid her down on the bed, and she groaned softly, her limbs heavy and pliable. I took a second to just appreciate the view. Even exhausted and dressed in hastily thrown-on clothes, she was delicious. Her red shirt top was rumpled, the white circle on the back stained with a bit of sweat. The black shorts under that ridiculous skirt rode up, showing off those pale, smooth thighs that had quivered so beautifully an hour ago.
I brushed a stray lock of long pink hair out of her face. Her eyelids fluttered, green irises peeking out, hazy and unfocused. She wasn't fully asleep, just drifting in the endorphin crash. She made a small sound, brow furrowing, and I couldn't help myself—leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
"You've been a good girl today, Sakura. You did well. Rest up for now," I whispered, my voice low. "No training tomorrow. But the day after? You're running laps until you puke. Your stamina is embarrassing."
Her lips parted slightly, like she wanted to protest but couldn't quite surface from unconsciousness. I kissed her pouty mouth instead, soft and brief, and felt her press into it even in sleep. Wanting it. Wanting validation from the man who'd just spent hours using her body.
Yeah. She was hooked.
"You're mine," I whispered. "I'm not giving you to anyone, my wonderful cherry blossom."
She let out a tiny, whimpering noise. It was unclear if she understood my words. She will one day. I pulled back, smirking at her dazed expression.
I slipped back out into the pre-dawn darkness, hopping across rooftops toward home. The Anbu picked up my trail again, dutiful little spies writing their dutiful little reports. Still there presence brought out the worries I buried in pleasure and flesh.
The interrogation yesterday had made it crystal clear. They were building a case file, creating plausible deniability for when the village needed to throw me under the bus. Making sure they could paint me as the aggressor, the rogue element, the dangerous asset that went too far. And I need to prepare.
But first, I needed a shower. Needed food. Needed sleep.
My new home was dark when I finally slipped inside, muscles pleasantly sore, satisfied in a way that went bone-deep.
The shower was quick, washing away sweat and other fluids while I mentally catalogued the night's achievements like the smug bastard I was. Then I raided the kitchen, finding the food Shiho had left out—onigiri, some pickled vegetables, a note in her careful handwriting telling me to eat properly.
My chest did that stupid warm thing it did whenever she did these stupid small things.
The bedroom was dark except for the faint light from the street outside. My little bookworm was curled up in a ball, buried under the duvet. Her glasses were on the nightstand, folded neatly.
I slid under the covers, careful not to jostle the mattress too much. She shifted immediately, sensing the heat source. Despite being asleep, she gravitated toward me, rolling over.
Shiho hummed, still asleep, and pressed back into me. Nuzzled into my chest with this unconscious trust that made me feel like slightly less of a bastard. She made a soft, happy noise, a little hum that vibrated against my skin when I hugged her back.
I kissed the top of her head, inhaling the smell of old paper and vanilla shampoo.
"I got you," I whispered into her hair, pulling her closer, wrapping my body around hers and the baby. The lust that usually roared in my veins quieted down to a low, protective purr.
I closed my eyes and held her tighter, waiting for exhaustion to drag me under.
Just for a few hours.
Just until dawn.
It didn't. The sleep didn't come.
My mind kept circling back to the interrogation, picking at it like a scab I couldn't leave alone. Sakura and Mebuki had provided an amazing distraction, but now, in the darkness with nothing but Shiho's soft breathing and my own thoughts, the reality of that meeting settled over me like a weighted blanket made of anxiety and political bullshit.
The way they'd framed their questions was concerning enough. Shikaku and Inoichi weren't idiots; they were two of the smartest men in the village, and they'd been laying groundwork. Building a narrative under both Hokages' eyes.
But Danzo. Danzo's presence was what really annoyed the shit out of me.
Why the hell was Minato trusting him? I could understand Hiruzen—if I really, really tried. They were old companions, brothers-in-arms who'd fought through three shinobi wars together. Trust forged in blood and battle wasn't easily dismissed, even when it should be. The old professor probably saw Danzo as a necessary evil, the shadow to his light, the pragmatic counterbalance to idealistic leadership.
But Minato? Minato should know better. Should be suspicious. The man was a genius, a tactical prodigy who'd earned his legend through innovation and adaptability. He shouldn't be letting that warhawk anywhere near policy decisions.
I sighed, careful not to disturb Shiho, and stared at the ceiling.
In my early days as a shinobi, I'd made plans—fantasies, really—about killing Danzo. The old bastard was directly responsible for so much of the canon timeline's horror. He'd pushed Nagato and Konan toward extremism. He'd enabled Obito and Madara's designs through short-sighted paranoia dressed up as pragmatism. He was a cancer. The root of the rot. Removing him should have been priority one for anyone with knowledge of the future.
Of course, none of my plans had been remotely viable. They all boiled down to "get strong enough to not die immediately" and "hope for an opportunity that won't get you executed." Not exactly tactical genius.
I'd admitted to myself, even back then, that I was afraid. I wasn't suicidal. I wanted to live, even if I went through with it. There'd been this foolish hope that maybe, somehow, I could pull it off and survive. Even if I didn't, killing Danzo would be the one good thing my reincarnation accomplished, the thing that justified my presence in this world.
And I still held that hope. But his presence at that meeting changed the equation a bit. If I acted against Danzo now, I'd be acting against someone the village leadership had chosen to include. Someone they trusted, or at least tolerated. The village would be forced to respond, to treat me as a rogue element, a threat to internal stability. Acting against him would be equivalent to acting against Konoha.
And I loved this village. Not with the fervent, unquestioning patriotism of someone raised on the Will of Fire. I wasn't that kind of loyal. But I loved the people here. They'd made this place home. Shiho. Anko. Naruto. Hanabi. Now Sakura. And many more.
The thought of being on the opposite side of their weapons was unbearably unpleasant.
It was a dilemma without a clean solution. I wanted to do what was objectively good for the village. But the village would see me as a traitor, a murderer, someone who'd violated the hierarchy and trust that kept the whole system functioning. They wouldn't know what I knew. Couldn't understand.
And explaining it would sound insane at best, treasonous at worst.
So what the fuck was I supposed to do? Just... let it play out? Hope things turned out differently this time? Trust that my butterfly effect would somehow magically fix everything without requiring me to make the hard calls?
I turned my head slightly, looking at Shiho's peaceful face in the dim light. Her hand was still resting on her stomach where our child grew. Our child. A tangible reminder that I had more to lose now than just my own life.
Sleep never came. I lay there holding her until the first light of dawn crept through the window, mind churning uselessly through scenarios and calculations that all ended in variations of "fucked if you do, fucked if you don't."
Eventually, I gave up and slid out of bed, leaving Shiho to sleep a bit longer. The kitchen beckoned, and I decided to try something radical — being a domestic partner. I wasn't much of a chef, far from it, actually, but I could manage breakfast. Rice, miso soup, some tamagoyaki that only burned a little bit around the edges.
When Shiho shuffled out twenty minutes later, blinking behind her glasses and hair sticking up in a cute cowlick, the smell of breakfast made her face light up.
The hug and the shy, sleepy smile I got were worth the minor culinary struggle. I kissed the top of her head while she mumbled appreciation into my chest. At least someone appreciated my cooking, unlike that ungrateful snake woman who'd made faces at my last attempt.
I saw Shiho off to work with another kiss and promises to eat properly, then turned my attention to the training yard. The interrupted session from before the mission report gnawed at me, and now there was added urgency. The meeting had crystallized something; I needed to be stronger, more capable, more valuable to offset the growing suspicion. Dead weight got cut. Useful assets got second chances.
I needed to be indispensable.
The hand signs came automatically. Six clones appeared in puffs of smoke. Only six for now. My chakra was still sluggish, and I intended to keep them active for hours. Any more would be asking for an aneurysm.
Three clones went to physical and mental training. The ongoing nightmare of trying to sense natural energy, to grasp the fundamentals of senjutsu, without killing myself, as well as taijutsu. The other three tackled seal work. The Ice Domain technique I'd been procrastinating on, the genjutsu disruption seal, and various other projects that needed organization and prioritization before real progress could happen.
I'd replace the clones after their time limit, sort through their memories, and give the next batch a foundation to build from. Hopefully, four-hour rotations with six clones' worth of feedback wouldn't give me a stroke. I'd adjust the timing and numbers after two cycles, see what was sustainable.
And starting tomorrow, I'd need to assign clones to train Sakura. My pink-haired student deserved follow-through, especially after last night. She needed stamina training desperately. For field work, obviously, but also for more recreational activities. A teacher had responsibilities, and a student, too.
I joined the seal work team initially, pulling out my notes on the Eight Trigrams Sealing Style. I'd copied over sixty percent of Kushina's seal from memory, but working with Uzumaki designs always made me want to tear my hair out. They were complicated, needlessly sophisticated, and so over-engineered. The early days of trying to understand their library archives had nearly given me panic attacks.
After the first batch of clones dispelled and their memories slammed into my brain like a migraine wrapped in information overload, I switched focus.
The conceptual application of senjutsu through jutsu-shiki was more interesting, if no less frustrating. I was theorizing in the dark, working from incomplete information and educated guesses, but at least it didn't make me want to throw up.
That was how most of my day went. Cycling clones, sorting memories, making incremental progress on multiple fronts while the sun tracked across the sky. The headache built gradually, a dull throb behind my eyes that promised worse to come, but I pushed through.
The sun was setting, painting the training yard in shades of orange and gold, when I sensed them approaching. The new residents have arrived.
Anko had returned from the Land of Waves, and she'd brought Tsunami and Inari with her.
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